It Was Not Me
It was not me as I am now.
It was not me as I was then.
It was then when God was truly in me.
When God was in me, I was a young man.
A young man with hope, will and desire.
Desire to give my love and the gift of God to the ones in need.
You see, that was me.
Thus, it was not me who hurt you so,
But it was me as I was then.
It was then when God was not in me.
That is when I hurt you though.
Now I can really see it was not me, who scarred you so.
Your innocence, your trust in me, the weak moment in your life,
Was abused by me.
But that was not really me.
You have to see it was not me as I was before,
Or as I am now,
Or as I will ever be.
No! It was not me!
It was he who was not me.
It was he who will never be me.
It was he and me who hurt you so.
No! It was not really me, who hurt you.
I hear you say that it was not you who hurt me so.
You said it was not you
Who stole my innocence,
Who stole my love for life,
Who stole my respect for myself.
You said it was not you who hurt me so.
I was only a boy, ten-year-old boy when my parents abused me so.
I was weak, sad and confused.
I was hurt by someone I loved and trusted so.
I came to you to help me heal.
I came to you because God told me to.
I came to you because you said God was in you.
I came to you because I trusted you more than I trusted mysel
I came to you because perfection of love was in you.
Yes, I came to you.
Your loving tone of voice made me trust you even more.
You listened to me like no one had before.
Your touch was gentle, soft and warm.
Your touch made me feel that I was in a safe place.
Your compassion made me feel the healing in me.
Your soft gaze told me you were the God-sent man.
The man God sent to help me and others like me.
When you put me on your lap, you gave me a hug.
A hug of love, that was doubt-free.
Transcendence in me took all the pain away.
I felt safe because of you.
I felt loved once again because of you.
I felt I was a good little boy because of you.
A good boy who deserved all the goodness in the world;
A good boy with a bright future ahead of him.
But when you put your hands in my pants,
I got confused, but did not refuse to do the same to you.
For it was you who told me then:
"My sweet child you are safe here.
You are safe when you are with me.
You are loved by God in me.
It is God who sent you here,
It is God who wants you to trust me.
So my little boy do trust God in me;
And do what feels good to you."
It was you who said that the God in you
Was loving, and that He knew what's good for me.
And that God in you wants me to please you.
And by pleasing you I'll be pleasing God;
And by pleasing God my pain will go away.
But you did not say that by you touching me that way,
And by me doing the same to you will harm me even more.
You did not say that all this would destroy me so.
You did not say that your love was a lie.
You did not say that you were an evil man.
You did not say that what was in you was not really God,
But the opposite of Him.
Now that I am a grown man,
I know that trusting you was a mistake,
And an error I made.
A mistake and error with irreversible consequences.
The consequences that brought pain in me even more.
The pain, turmoil and darkness in me is now too much for me to endure.
Now you can see why I must go;
Why I must go to a pain-free place.
For the pain in me is unbearable.
Thus, I must go to a secret place,
A place of no return.
Oh my son, please do not go,
There is still hope for you.
Oh my son, it was not me who hurt you so.
Oh my son it was not me as I am now;
It was not me who injured you so.
It was he who was not me when the true God was in me.
Oh my son, please do not go.
There is still hope for you.
It was not me who hurt you so.
Oh my son, please do not go.
Like a cat I slumber, blissfully unencumbered,Through eighty per cent of my allotted span,Occasionally awoken, when dissent is spoken,And I invent another cunning five year plan,Lately it was pensions, that were being mentioned,So I borrowed from the French and Robespierre,Scrap all that went before, saved by tooth and claw,And let my all equal Citizens appear,Currently it is time, for me to be in my prime,For there is another election looming,I have to appear sincere, for part of this coming year,And assure everyone that everything is booming,Never mind strict quotas, Ive imported multitudes of voters,And told them which party let them stay,Though Ive rigged the postal vote, and defamed everyone of note,You never know what might happen on the day.So to be on the safe side, I swallow all my pride,And allow my people to hear my hallowed voice,And roll out the charade, put on the facade,And even make believe they have a choice,Next time around the crown, will be trampled underground,House of Lords and Lord Chancellor history,With the other Chancellor gone, I alone will soldier on,Yes, then there will only ever be me,Ill hold elections for you, as all dictators do,And fill positions with those that grease my palm,As for civil unrest, there is always house arrest,Or secret imprisonment for those that mean me harm.
Two Poems: Black Poncho, and Spirits of de Copan [in English and Spanish]
English Version12) Black Poncho(of Saint Cosme Hill, by Lima, Peru)Lost in the grottos of Peru-By the hills of HuancayoBlack Poncho was given A treasure of gold?;By none other than, Demonic goblins!?in the form of scorching fruit;Hence, Black Poncho fooled The goblins of oldBy using his poncho to pullThe sizzling golden fruitThrough the Andes to Lima, Peru!?Henceforward, he was swindledBy a jeweler of dire repute.Thus, his life changed (as so often they do);And now he lives with:Thirty-five dogs, on San Cosme Hill.
Take some time to stop and look at nature. Pick up a rock or two and think about where it might have started out and what it might have gone through to end up where you found it.
Learn About Love From Poet Rumi
Learn about love by reading poetry by a long dead poet named Rumi. No need to look for ancient texts hidden in caves.
Three Poems: The Monkey Man of Lima, Plus Two More
What Hides behind the Minute?What hides behind the minute?It seems, no one really knows;How many times will we wakeup,To count the minutes gone?The rose was dead when I arrived;The sword, was rusty and dull;The window curtain was open,And there was music in the hall.Oh lovely minute, where art thou?One, is not like the other-:Whirling in an earthly orbit,As the boundless world discovers.
Three Poems and Paradise Lost [One for Hell, One for Heaven one for an Inca King]
The Torrents of HellHell's furnace-Likened to a chimneyVomits her torrentsOf flames-Into the airThrough earths crustAnd the earth's trembles-!Agitated, she projectsA thick curtain of smokeTo heat the feet of thoseWho provoke her every wish.Like molten ironShe waits for the soul(the moment)Then molds, into her enclosureHuman serpents?Out of savage flesh!No storm, no struggleNo eruption, no typhoon,Just a terrible phenomenon,Hell is capable of producing;And upon death,Back into the AbyssThey melt!.
Our home was warm in the shade of the trees or when the sun was not upon it.It was built on the side of a hill, near a lake where spirits could be free.
I Saw the Universe
I can see the cerulean blue of the skiesOr the indigo of the nightI can see the stars wink, the grin of the moonDuring the changes of it's monthly face**I am in awe**I see the sun on it's annual trekAlternately awakening the life in the earthAnd then fading away to allow it to sleepUntil the next spring**I am told the Universe is "out there"Beyond those stars, moon and sun,Yet the power of what I can seeIs a fathoming beyond my comprehension**I am in awe**"Out there" no time, no seasons passNo sense of age, hatred or loss existOnly the infinity0f the Universe**What IS "out there"?What IS the Universe that has no end?What IS the power that creates all this?I want to see it too**And then I remember..
Catherine Daly reviews Antidotes for an Alibi
Amy KingAntidotes for an AlibiBlazeVox BooksISBN 0-9759227-5-02005These poems read to me like poetry versions of flash fiction. Now, I like flash fiction very much, but I like the more fabulistic kind.
Mechanical Poetry; Part Two
What do you do when you want to write poetry? I hope your answer is "I start writing." Even writing a bad poem is better than waiting for the "right words.
I never thought I would have to say GOODBYE to my best friend? But that's what I had to do today I had to let go of her forever -There was no other way For me to face reality Or pretend to be okay I had no concept -Of how hard it would be To actually let go Of this huge part of me? Not tomorrow or ever -Will my life be the same Without my Grannio here Life seems to be a game - Of chance and questions?Questions that never end And have no answers That can begin to mend The gaping hole inside of meNor come close to healing My heart and soul that Seem to be feeling Lost, numb and empty-Completely hollow? Like I have nobody left To really follow - Through life with respectShe was so much more Than my Grandmother I knew that before She left this earthAnd I told her so More than once or twice Because she had to know Just how very special -And truly blessed I felt to have her as my friend She was the best Without a doubt -My Grannio gave me More than anybody Will ever really see? It was an unspoken -Kind of love That came with no conditions And went far above The normal caringAnd average support For a grandchild - Or family of any sort She gave more of herselfTo me than anyone In my life ever will Nobody could have done What she did for meWith so much devotion, Absolute honesty And true emotion? Her loyalty was -Sincerely undying I realize so much Now that I'm crying - And wishing thatI had just one more day To spend holding her hand And trying to take away Her fears and her pain -That took over her Body and her mind Like never before? In our lives -I would have sincerely Given 20 years of my life To have her merely Be here tomorrow -I cannot explain The way I feel today Or how much I pain Is inside of me -That will never go away No matter how much time passes I know this ache will stay With me forever?Just as her special touch Will always be with me And mean so very much - To me and my son?Jakob Thomas Her "BabyDoll" And I promise To never forget -What she would have done If she was still here For him - her only one Great-grandchild?Resource Box - © Danielle Hollister (2004) is the Publisher of BellaOnline Quotations Zine - A free newsletter for quote lovers featuring more than 10,000 quotations in dozens of categories like - love, friendship, children, inspiration, success, wisdom, family, life, and many more. Read it online at - http://www.
Looking Out the Rear Window
The funeral rite concludedWith the pastor shaking hands,Offering words of comfortI didn't quite understand.The undertakers came forthAnd summoned pallbearers' four.
In The Midst Of All
In the midst of darkness, there is light. In the midst of evil, there is virtue.
Ballade of an Inca King
Ah! Leave the gold, wealth and landSays the Inca King?;In Spain, they leave the bustling streets,For sail to Peruvian shores;The murmur of the gold is sweet,It glows and glistens like the sunA mountain of gold, or the graveAwaits the human, Inca-god?!Spaniards sing their songs of victoryWhere breaks the green Peruvian sea;Who now, worships the Inca King (?) Guarded behind prisons doors-?They chatter about his golden ringsThey watch the winds cross the shores?They count the days that idle by,For gold they worship and will die.Envoy.
The Poets Corner [Three Poems with a review]
The Poet's Corner[Three poem/ see review of poetry under the poems]The Poets CondorThe condor fly'sAmongst the hillsIn open skiesOf San Jerrónimo,Near Huancayo?Forbidding anyTo near his path-Lest he dareTo risk a attack,Near Huancayo!..
The Plane from Iquitos [1959-Part One]
Iquitos & the AmazonPart OneIt was December 2, l959, I was sitting on a small prop-plane leaving Iquitos, Peru for a trip down the Amazon toward the opening, the mouth of the mighty Amazon,--to Manaus. As we flew low one could see the waters of the Amazon, the city always impressed me, but more from this birds-eye view, you could see the mighty river in its squid like form, with all it tentacles [contributories: waters linking to the river].
Shakespeares Sonnet XVIII, Shall I Compare Thee to a Summers Day?
Shakespeare's sonnets require time and effort to appreciate. Understanding the numerous meanings of the lines, the crisply made references, the brilliance of the images, and the complexity of the sound, rhythm and structure of the verse demands attention and experience.
The Lull of Twilight [Over Mantaro Valley] In English and Spanish
Twilight, was now beginning. As forthe sun, it was down-down overthe Mantaro Valley of Peru.
As I picked up some of the polished gemstones in the rock store I began to think about what the stones looked like before they were polished. The store had several rocks on display showing the before and after and I realized that unless you knew what you were looking for, you could easily pass by a valuable gemstone.
Five Poems from Home [And a view on the planet vs. the poet]
Five Poems from Home1) Remembering: Dorothy Parker[Dedicated to the 1920s Poetess]Let it be said, Dorothy Parker lies dead,cremated to ash and poetry; thus,she died at the ripe old ageof seventy-three-.The tiny woman with a big mouth, who got caught in the rain and couldn't get out:continued to play the game,all the same, like drops of rainupon a pane.
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